Columns

They lounged beneath awnings that were erected under a shade tree in the front yard and at tables, chairs, benches and even a swing spaced along an L-shaped front porch. They squeezed into folding chairs at tables, found occasional seats along walls, surrounded card tables pushed together in the family room and even stood and sat in spots around the perimeter of the kitchen and on playground equipment in the back yard.

Most of the roughly 450 students who this week graduated from high schools in Shelby County – and in recent weeks peer institutions from around the world – likely perceive the passing of those diplomas as the metaphorical transformation from a 13-year trek through classrooms and textbooks to a lifetime of awesome and inspiring adventure.

In a column in March of last year, I wrote about what I called “the great divide” in our country, and things certainly haven’t changed since then. If anything, this divide has become more obvious and recognizable.

The line drive whistled off the pink bat toward third base, where it scattered the dust when it landed untouched by a fielder. The batter took off toward first base, where a coach was encouraging a runner already there to move along toward second.

The little hitter stopped at first, and as each successive hitter made contact and followed her, she kept shuttling around the bases, until, after she crossed home, she headed back to first base, where she was detoured by the coach and told she could sit down.

During the past couple of weeks, I have found myself standing before several of you talking about what we do and how we try to do it.
And, as I tell any group to which I speak, I make my living by typing, not talking. That was a decision I made in college, when I realized that my flat Kentucky twang and wild blonde hair did not translate smoothly on television, thus ending my dream of being the next Cawood Ledford – with hair – which was after I realized pro sports were out, too.

I have written before about the quickly approaching catastrophe that our country is facing with regard to the enormous (and rapidly increasing) debt our government continues to pile up.

To make sure we all understand the terms involved, the national debt is the total amount the government owes. The deficit refers the amount the government spends each year over and above the revenue that is generated (which is then added to the national debt).

In the 2004 Olympics, Matt Emmons had victory in sight. In fact, he was only one shot away from claiming the gold medal in the 50-meter 3-position rifle event. He was so far ahead that he didn't even need a bull's-eye to win; his final shot merely needed to hit the target.

He took aim and fired. Normally, the shot he made would have received a score of 8.1, more than enough for the gold medal. But, in what was described as "an extremely rare mistake in elite competition," Emmons had fired at the wrong target.

In a world in which vicious vitriol is the vanguard of criticism, a hundred words could not have been more troubling, not because of what was said but because of what wasn’t said, what was missed, because of the emotion behind the letters and punctuation marks that came together to form the paragraphs.

I don’t have a dog in this fight, but now I can’t imagine that Mitt Romney has any more chance of carrying Shelby County on Election Day (either of them) than Hooch does of of winning the Westminster Dog Show.

That became cat-eyed clear when I read the other day for the first time the story of the Romney family’s dog and his ride atop the car on a family vacation.

I realize many of you who doggedly follow the political pontifications already know all the leavings on this.